Fluff Dragon Read online

  “You can call me the Kraken, because I like crackin’ the bones of my enemies.”

  “Then seek out the barbarian camps to the north, Kraken,” Rezormoor said as he stood. “I believe you’ll have luck there.” He walked back to the Tower, taking note of something strange in the air, like the whole of the Magrus had been turned on its axis. Rezormoor would have to ponder that—he didn’t like questions for which he didn’t have the answers.

  CHAPTER THREE

  LEARNING TO FLY

  THE SEEMINGLY ENDLESS PINK SANDS of the Turul wastes generally didn’t thump. But that’s exactly what they were doing, reverberating in a rhythmic subsonic pattern that sent grains of sand vibrating around Loki’s and Moki’s paws.

  “Neat!” Moki exclaimed when it happened again.

  Loki didn’t share his associate’s enthusiasm. In fact, Loki couldn’t remember a time when large thumping sounds ever meant something good was about to happen. Usually it meant quite the opposite.

  They had spent the night in the desert, and now they could see the mountains that rose in the east—mountains that housed Onig, the goblin city. There they could rest and buy passage from the Guild of Indiscriminate Teleportation, making a quick jump somewhere (hopefully) closer to the boy who could read the book. What kind of book it was and why nobody else could read it, Loki didn’t know. But he’d figure it all out eventually, and if all went according to plan, he’d be handsomely rewarded for doing so. His thoughts were interrupted, however, as Moki suddenly jumped up and pointed at the horizon.

  “Can you see it?” he exclaimed.

  Loki turned to see a rainbow on the horizon.

  “It’s so beautiful!” Moki continued.

  And it was, he supposed, if you were into that sort of thing. It was just that you didn’t see rainbows in the desert like that. Not ever. There was something else odd about it too. Something that Loki just couldn’t put his paws on.

  “Does it seem like a normal rainbow to you?” Loki asked, squinting and trying to get a better look at it.

  “There’s no such thing as a normal rainbow, silly,” Moki announced. “Each one is special.”

  Loki sighed—it was going to be a long trip.

  “Hey, I think it’s getting bigger!” Moki exclaimed after a time. Loki realized something else was going on. The rainbow wasn’t just growing bigger; it was actually moving.

  And not just moving, Loki decided, it was walking. In fact, the rainbow was close enough now that they could see each ribbonlike leg lift itself and take a giant step forward, crashing back to the ground in an explosion of sand.

  “I didn’t know they could do that,” Moki said, his voice suggesting the world was full of lots of things that surprised the fire kitten. But on this particular point, Loki would have to agree.

  “What should we do?” Moki asked.

  “The only thing we can do—wait and see what happens.”

  “Oh, good,” Moki said with a grin. “I like waiting.”

  The rainbow reared to a stop just ahead of the two fire kittens. Reared because now that it was hovering above them Loki could see a unicorn and a guy in a bathrobe standing on top of it. He watched as the unicorn suddenly changed from a white-and-pink horse-looking creature into a blond-haired teenage girl. She shouted something and the rainbow leaned down and gently deposited them on the ground.

  They walked toward the pair of fire kittens as if nothing extraordinary were going on. The rainbow righted itself and stood perfectly still, as rainbows were supposed to.

  “Hi!” Moki shouted as they approached. Loki grimaced—he had wanted to speak first.

  “Greetings,” the human male responded. He was close enough now that they could see he wasn’t wearing a bathrobe but the moon-and-star robes of a Tower-trained wizard. Loki would have preferred it if the human had been wearing a bathrobe, because wizards only made things complicated.

  The fire kitten opened his mouth to speak when Moki exclaimed, “That’s an awesome rainbow!”

  There was a rumbling sound around them.

  “What do you think you’re doing?!” the girl scolded. “Never call it a rainbow. I suggest you apologize before it decides to squash you.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” the mostly orange-and-white fire kitten called out. “You just look so very much like a—”

  Loki slapped his paw in front of his associate’s face. No more using the r word if whatever it was happened to be a kitten smasher.

  “That’s a rainbro,” the girl said.

  The rainbro bent down and regarded the two fire kittens. And now that it was close, Loki could make out the faint lines that made up the creature’s eyes and mouth. The rainbro glared for a moment before it straightened itself.

  “Well, now,” the girl continued, “I suggest you don’t make that mistake again.”

  “Yeah, no kidding,” Loki offered. “I’m Loki, by the way, and this is my assistant, Moki.”

  “I’m Princess,” the girl replied. “And this is my wizard, Magar, but I can’t imagine you’ll have any need to talk to him.”

  “It’s my pleasure to simply exist,” Magar said.

  “Just ignore him,” Princess said.

  “Fellow travelers, then?” Loki offered. “It’s uncommon to find someone traveling across the wastes—especially coming from the north. I might guess that you’ve been walking the long path from the Mesoshire.” The Mesoshire was the city between the realms, created when Maximilian Sporazo had attempted to tear magic from the world. It sat between the Magrus and the Techrus, and was theoretically possible to get to. But the journey wasn’t easy and required guidance from the monks of the Tree of Attenuation. In all his years spent in the Turul wastes, Loki had only met one other traveler trying to get to the Mesoshire. He’d never met anyone coming back.

  The wizard and Princess shared a look, and Loki worried that he was pressing for too much information. The last thing he needed was a unicorn and a wizard mad at him. The fire kitten suddenly had a very bad feeling about the two travelers.

  “Not that it matters,” Loki hurried to add. “As for us, we’re on our way to Onig.”

  “A detestable place,” Princess said.

  “Yep. We’re visiting the top ten detestable places in the Magrus. So I guess we’ll just be off, then,” Loki said. He looked at Moki, who stared back at him. Loki cleared his throat. “Off, as in leaving.” But Moki just stood there, nodding and looking perfectly content. Loki sighed then gave his companion a push to get him moving. “That means grab our things so we can leave.”

  “Oh, right!” Moki replied, scurrying around their small camp and stuffing various camping implements into an oversized pack.

  “You know, it wouldn’t be right of me not to leave you with a passing gift,” Princess said, tapping her unicorn wand on her head. “It’s tradition.”

  “Oh no, don’t worry about that,” Loki replied, helping Moki tie the pack down and then strap it on his shoulders. “No room in the pack anyway, see? All set.”

  “Of course,” Princess said coolly. “Funny thing is, if I weren’t allergic to cat I’d just roast you both over the fire. Unless fire kittens come preheated? I guess I hadn’t thought about that.”

  “Ha, that’s a good one,” Loki said, forcing a laugh. He gave Moki a shove to get him moving. “Well, good luck and safe travels and all that.” He turned and began scampering away at a pace that suggested hurried excitement instead of panicked fleeing.

  Suddenly the wind began to pick up around them. Loki chanced a look over his shoulder and saw Princess waving her wand in the air. He decided the time for decorum was over and started running as fast as he could.

  “Is this a race?” Moki shouted after him, running as best he could with the pack on his back. “I like races! Where we racing to?” Loki could hear Princess laughing as the wind began to build and roar around him.

  “Now, just a little push to help you along!” Princess shouted. The two fire kittens suddenly found
themselves in the middle of a sandstorm. Loki had been through a number of them before, but this was something else. The world closed in around them in only a matter of seconds, and they instinctively shut their eyes and flattened their ears. Then the wind increased, actually lifting them off their paws. The two fire kittens scrambled to find the ground, their legs frantically pedaling in the air, but the blast sent them soaring upward. All around them the harsh sand whipped about, stinging with every grain, and sending them tumbling head over tail. Then, with a feeling not dissimilar to being kicked in the backside, the two fire kittens went flying forward.

  The goblin tax collector noticed them first: two screeching dots that seemed to be falling out of the blue sky. But the wastes were home to all sorts of strange creatures, so he didn’t pay them much mind. The king required his taxes, and what the king liked best was to be paid in coin, but some could only offer a share of their crops. This was the case with the farmer, so he stood by and watched as the farmer’s two sons loaded turnips into the back of the tax collector’s carriage.

  “You know the king’s taxing us to death,” the goblin farmer complained.

  “Don’t you be worrying about that,” the tax collector grunted. “Pay your dues and you’ll be protected by the crown.”

  “Protected? Protected from what? Bands of roaming turnip thieves? Not likely we’ll be seeing any of those.”

  The tax collector shrugged; it wasn’t his problem.

  “If I were part of a marauding band, I don’t think I’d be going after turnips,” the farmer persisted. “Probably storm a castle or something.”

  The tax collector scowled. “You get what you deserve, peasant. No use complaining about it.” And that’s when the two fire kittens, each mewing in a high-pitched wail, fell from the sky and into the nearby water trough. The resulting splash—which would be described in great detail for years to come by the turnip farmer and his two sons—rose in a single wave and crashed down on the tax collector’s head.

  Loki and Moki scrambled out of the water and began shaking themselves vigorously, sending even more drops the tax collector’s way.

  “STOP!” the goblin screamed.

  Both Loki and Moki stopped midshake.

  “How dare you! You’re both under arrest!”

  Two armored goblins stepped from behind the tax collector’s carriage, lowering their swords and eyeing the wet kittens.

  “Of course we are.” Loki sighed, putting his paws in the air.

  On the art of berserking

  SOONER OR LATER A GROUP of soldiers within any given army will decide that marching around in neat and ordered rows is way less fun than it first appeared. And slowly marching toward an enemy is definitely a downer. To this end, a new tactic called “berserking” arose that included more running around and yelling and considerably less marching.

  Berserking was first utilized by the orc raider Vograk Gru, who within the space of twenty minutes broke his favorite dagger, lost his wallet during a skirmish, and received notice his taxes were being audited.

  Filled with an unstoppable rage, Vograk broke ranks with his fellow orcs, screamed at the top of his lungs, and ran headlong into the enemy. Although the attack was considered highly successful, a resulting arrowhead lodged in Vograk’s shoulder was considered a “gift” and was duly taxed at his audit.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  DINNER WITH OGRES

  IT WAS DUSK AT THE orc camp and the smell of boiling onions and turnips filled the cool evening air. Max waited until the orc had turned her back to snatch Glenn, his magical dagger, from his backpack.

  “Good thinking,” the fluff dragon said quietly. “You can use that to pry my chains off.”

  The dagger’s handle was made of ivory and fashioned into the head and torso of a man with his arms folded. Upon hearing Puff, the small head turned in the fluff dragon’s direction and spoke: “Hello there! I’m Glenn, the Legendary Dagger of Motivation.”

  Puff blinked. “You have a talking dagger?”

  “I was forged in the everlasting flame by the great Dagda,” Glenn continued. “I’ve pierced through the toughest armor, slipped past the mightiest shields, deflected the most powerful strikes . . . and the last time I was used was to butter toast.”

  Max grunted. “I told you that if I had a butter knife I would have used it.”

  “Even so, it was a fine buttering,” Glenn added. “You should feel good about it.”

  “I don’t have time for this.” Max sighed. “I need to plan a rescue, but I can’t read the Codex.”

  “Outside of the Elephant Pigs of Zerhem, reading is my favorite thing to do,” Glenn said. “But inside it’s way too dark to see anything.”

  “Maybe you should put the dagger back,” Puff suggested.

  Max slipped Glenn into his belt. Through the tent flap he could see the glow of the cooking coals burning against the rapidly darkening sky. Suddenly there was a crash.

  “Well, it’s been nice knowing you,” Puff said, “but now the ogres have come back.” Max heard something heavy moving through the woods, pushing through the trees, and entering the camp. He swallowed—whatever it was, it sounded big.

  “Don’t worry, Max,” Glenn chimed. “At times like this it’s best to keep your chin up. Unless something’s trying to hit you.”

  “So you’re going to get cooked and I’m going to be stuck listening to that,” Puff said unhappily.

  When Max saw the ogres, his heart sank. They were huge—three heads or so taller than the orc cook. And they were big. The ogres had folds of thick green skin that covered their massive necks, hulking arms, and huge bellies. Their heads looked small by comparison, and they had the same pointed ears as the orc cook. But unlike the cook, the ogres had two large teeth that erupted from the bottom of their scowling, oversized mouths.

  “We’re doomed,” Max said.

  “Yeah, welcome to my world,” Puff replied. “But at least you’ll get a quick and relatively painless death. Try being drooled on night after night—then you’d just wish you were dead.”

  “Me hungry!” bellowed one of the ogres as it moved to where Sarah, Dirk, and Dwight were hanging. Sarah screamed, and the terror in her voice was maybe the single worst sound Max had ever heard. His friends were awake, but he couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not.

  The ogre turned from Sarah to Dirk, giving him a nudge so that he swung back and forth. Dirk had been Max’s best friend since grade school, and seeing him hanging upside down like that made Max start to feel something other than fear. It made him angry.

  “This one stringy,” the ogre announced, looking Dirk up and down.

  “Cool,” Dirk said, squinting up at the giant looming over him. “You’re totally an ogre, aren’t you? What’s your intelligence, like six or something? Man, that’s pretty low. Like, insect low.” Dirk also happened to see the world as one giant role-playing game, put together for his personal amusement.

  “Shut up, Dirk,” Dwight yelled, struggling with his ropes. “We’re nothing to them but dinner.” Dwight was older than Max and his friends, and was the proprietor of the Dragon’s Den, the coolest (and only) game shop in his hometown of Madison. Max had always just thought of Dwight as a little person. It wasn’t until they got mixed up in this adventure that he’d learned he was a real dwarf, like in the movies. Maybe if he’d had a longer beard it would have been more obvious.

  “That’s messed up,” Dirk said. “The rule is you never eat anything that can talk or catch a Frisbee. Everyone knows that.”

  “Bah!” the ogre answered, spittle flying from his mouth.

  “I hope I give you gas,” Dwight spat, eyeing the ogre. The beast smiled in response, an act that accentuated his vicious-looking lower teeth.

  “Maybe dwarf need to be tenderized,” the ogre growled, stepping over to Dwight and raising a huge fist.

  “Stop playing with food,” the orc yelled as she threw a handful of herbs into the bubbling pot. “Or you can
cook!”

  The ogre dropped his fist, looking unhappy.

  “Ha-ha!” the second ogre shouted, pointing at the first. “You got yelled at!”

  “At least I’m not as ugly as you,” the second ogre responded.

  “Ha! Yes, you are—we’re twins!”

  As the two ogres continued their bickering, Max reached out to the Codex one last time. It had worked before, when a world of machines had thrown him and his friends into an epic battle for survival. And the power he unleashed was almost too overwhelming to comprehend. He needed that power now more than ever. Max took a deep breath and cleared his mind, willing himself to find the book like he’d done before. But again there was only silence. Exasperated, he kicked at the tent floor. “That’s it, the Codex isn’t going to work!”

  “Did you read the instructions?” Puff asked as he picked at his lock with a long nail. “That’s the thing I’ve noticed about humans: You never bother to read the instructions. I remember once when Sir Gallisten the Impatient purchased a siege engine kit, but instead of taking just five minutes to read the instructions—”

  Max cut the story short with an audible sigh. “Look, there’re no instructions, okay? And even if there were, I couldn’t read them—not now, anyway.”

  “Well, whatever you’re going to do, you’d better do it now,” Puff announced, motioning outside. Max turned to see the second ogre draw a large knife from his belt and hand it to the cook. The orc tested the edge with her thumb and nodded, pointing at Sarah. “Her first,” she grunted. It was obvious there wasn’t going to be any trading for orc mittens.

  “Max?” Sarah called out. She was looking around for him, her auburn hair brushing against the ground as she swung back and forth. Max hadn’t really known Sarah. He knew she was smart and played in the middle school band, but when a misunderstanding led them all to detention they formed a kind of bond. She tagged along when Max and Dirk made for the Dragon’s Den after school. But then Max had accidentally cast a spell from the Codex, and the four of them went tumbling into a strange and horrible future.